Chapter 2 #2
A mighty chuckle shook him. “I’m just the man to expand your experience, my pretty. Oh, yes, I’ll expand you well, I promise.”
Amanda pinched Elf and whispered, “Have a care!”
Elf ignored her and smiled up at the man. “It seems you will have to expand the experience of us both, Capitaine.”
His big dark eyes were hot, and he licked his moist lips. “I could handle a dozen and still need more, my lovely.”
“El . . . Lisette!” Amanda hissed. “He’s leading us into the Druid’s Walk!”
Elf wished Amanda would show faith in her common sense. Of course she knew the captain was taking them into one of the poorly lit paths. How could they break free in the middle of the crowd? When they were in a quiet shady location, she’d befuddle the lustful idiot until they could escape.
Bantering risqué words, she let him lead them farther and farther from the bright lights, into the realm of shadows and secrets.
Finally, when a bend concealed them from the South Walk entirely, she eased away from the officer, pretending to study him in admiration.
“Mon dieu, Capitaine, but you are a fine figure of a man,” she crooned.
“You must be the most tall man in your regiment.”
He let her go entirely and flexed his muscles. “One of them, aye, and the strongest. And,” he added, patting his bulging crotch, “built everywhere in proportion.” He moved to pull Elf back into his arms, but she evaded him and went to inspect him from the back.
“Such wide shoulders. A Hercules among men! Bien s?r, you can carry a cannon, single-handed.”
“Pretty close, pretty close.” He turned to face her, but she moved to stay always behind, leading him to turn in circles. “Hey, my beauty, stay still so I can admire you, too!”
“There will be time for that. Plenty of time. Maintenant, I want to admire your so wonderful physique . . .” She kept him turning for a few more moments, then, judging her moment, said, “You should kiss my cousin, Capitaine, or she will turn jealous again.”
She’d succeeded in dizzying him, so when he turned back to Amanda, he misstepped. Elf pushed him as hard as she could, then grabbed Amanda’s hand to run back to the lights.
But he was more massive than she’d thought, and only staggered under her thrust. Amanda faltered for a second before reacting and was snatched out of Elf’s grasp.
Elf stopped, poised to return to the rescue, but Amanda ripped free, ending up on the other side of the captain, closest to the crowded South Walk. “Run!” she screamed and set off herself for the well-lit area.
With a laugh of pure excitement, Elf picked up her skirts and fled down the deserted Druid’s Walk, hearing the captain bellow behind her.
Lanterns were deliberately scanty here and the paths twisted and divided. Elf passed an entwined couple on a bench, and some thrashing bushes that she didn’t care to contemplate.
After a few moments she paused, breathing heavily. Devil take it. Her years of being a perfect lady had sapped her strength!
Then she heard pounding feet. She’d not lost him yet.
She plunged between dark bushes into the shrubbery that lined the paths, struggling her way through as quietly as she could. She heard silk rip and feared for Amanda’s lovely domino. At least she didn’t need to fear for Amanda unless her friend ventured back into the walks to help.
Dense growth and deep shadows formed a frightening otherworld, but she came across occasional open spaces. Whether natural or contrived, they had a purpose. She almost tripped over a couple in flagrante delicto.
Her instinctive apology was answered by an abstracted curse from the heaving gentleman. With difficulty, she suppressed a fit of the giggles and hurried on.
Once out of earshot of that encounter she paused to listen.
In the distance, fireworks crackled and banged. Closer, her rejected lover was still bellowing her name. But now other voices chimed in, telling him to shut up and go away. Faith, but the bushes must be alive with lovers!
The captain, however, had clearly lost track of her. Her plan had worked.
Then he became silent and she started to worry again.
She’d made a fool of him, and she didn’t think him the sort to overlook that. Nor did she think him a fool. She suspected that he, too, was standing still listening, waiting like a good hunter for some sound of disturbance to mark her place.
She began to ease away from where she had heard him last, trying to make as little sound as possible, and alert for more clandestine lovers. In some places she could pass between shrubs or slip between tree trunks, but in others dense growth forced detours. Soon she was hopelessly disoriented.
She paused in the total darkness of a dense clump of yew to consider her situation. The fireworks had stopped, and no sound guided her.
Amanda would be safe, she thought, as long as she didn’t plunge back into these paths in search of Elf. And practically speaking, Elf could do nothing for her friend other than return to the South Walk as soon as possible.
To do that safely, she feared she’d have to avoid the paths. That meant pushing through the bushes in the hope of hearing the orchestra and getting her bearings. It worried her that she could not hear it now, for that meant she must be far from the heart of the Gardens.
Try as she might, she could not even hear any writhing lovers. She felt as if she were alone in the midst of the country.
The dark, silent, ominous country . . .
She realized then that she no longer had any reason to stay away from the paths. As long as she was alert, she could return to them, merely being prepared to plunge back into the bushes if she spotted the captain.
Oh, her poor cloak. What a sight she would be when she finally emerged into the light!
Then she had an idea. Trying not to make much noise, she unfastened the voluminous garment and eased it off.
Then she reversed it, putting it on again with the dark, cloth lining outside.
Not only would it resist damage, it would be less visible than shining red.
And when she finally emerged, she could flip it around again and appear relatively untattered.
That done, she had to make herself move onward. But as she began to work her way out of the yew, footsteps scrunched on the nearby path.
“This should do.” A man’s voice, speaking low and soft.
Lud, was she going to have to listen to a sordid seduction scene?
“It’s quiet enough.” Another muted male voice. “Now, what did you want?”
Despite her ladylike life, Elf knew the ways of the world and for a moment she feared she was to be audience to a sodomistic encounter. But the next words dispelled that.
“Your commitment to the cause has been called into question, my lord. There is considerable uneasiness.”
“By whom?”
Elf felt the faintest twinge of recognition of that well-bred voice, with its slight drawl. But it could be anyone. She knew nearly every lord in England.
“By those with more to lose than you.”
“I doubt any of you have more to lose than I.”
“Aye, and that is maybe the cause for concern.” The speaker’s voice began to show a Scottish lilt, and turned markedly less respectful. “What will be your gain when we succeed, my lord?”
“That right should prevail.” said the “lord,” audibly dismissive of all concern. “The restoration of the Stuarts to their rightful throne.”
At those words, Elf felt as if someone had poured icy water down her back.
Treason.
They were talking treason!
But surely the Jacobite cause had been crushed seventeen years ago by the Forty-five. The heads of the last lords to support that cause still rotted on Temple Bar.
Elf had stood statue-still from the first, but now she tried to even cut her breathing to the minimum. Amorous captains were a minor hazard compared to plotting traitors. If these men found her here, they’d slit her throat.
Inch by inch, and wincing at every faint rustle from her garments, she eased her bodice dagger out of her stomacher. Though only a tiny thing, with a blade no longer than her hand, it was still a weapon and better than none.
“I doubt you are driven by ideals, my lord,” said the Scot. “Perhaps you think to gain a position of power under the new regime. But you must know there are many others with a claim to it, a claim going back generations.”
“My family has a claim, too.”
Could he be a Scottish lord? There were a few English who had ever supported the Stuarts, and some Scots lords lacked an accent.
The lord spoke again, with audible disdain. “If you don’t want my help, say so. I’ll not force it on you. But how you’re to get close to the king without me I cannot imagine.”
“You know too much to be allowed to walk away, my lord.”
A new menace wove into the air and Elf’s heart pounded. Murder? Could she really stand here and do nothing about a murder, even of a traitor?
The lord arrogantly dismissed danger, however. “Don’t threaten me, Murray. I’ve left detailed descriptions of the plan in case of my untimely death. And I’m well able to take care of myself.” Elf heard the lethal hiss of a sword being drawn.
The long silence might have convinced Elf she was alone except that they couldn’t have left without making some noise.
“Put up, my lord,” said the Scotsman at last, an edge of nervousness in his voice. “There is no need of swords. It is just that as the time comes nigh we’re all on edge. After all, you could be a government man. An agent provocateur.”
The lord laughed. “Absurd. You’re a more likely one. Surely a man would only take such a role for money, and the one thing I do not lack is money. Are we finished here?”
The lord had obviously regained control of the situation, for the Scottish voice positively groveled as it said, “Aye, my lord.”
“Then do not request any more such meetings. We only have a short time to wait, and incidents such as this are both dangerous and inconvenient.”
“Aye, you are doubtless in the right of it, my lord.”
Then, at last, footsteps on gravel told Elf they were leaving.
She sucked in a deep breath, beginning to tremble in reaction. Dear heaven, what should she do? Someone was planning to do something terrible to the king, doubtless intending to follow it by armed invasion!
She had to prevent it.
As her heart steadied, Elf realized a true adventurer would have found a way to peep out and identify that English lord.
She, like a terrified rabbit, had stayed frozen in place.
Now, while the impression danced fresh in her mind, she tried to fix a name or face to the voice.
Though she was haunted by familiarity, nothing settled.
He had been speaking very low, but something in the tone had been familiar. A young man. She could almost see a proud stance, a haughty look . . .
No, it would not come.
Perhaps it would spring to mind when she stopped chasing it, or when next she met him. For the moment, she must escape from this situation, find Amanda, and get safely home.
She would go direct to Malloren House to tell Rothgar—
Then she realized he wasn’t there. None of her brothers was close by. Her freedom from protectors had now become a significant problem.
Calculating how long it might take to get a message to any of them, she cautiously pushed out of the hedge onto the nearby path. As she stepped free of the shrubs, however, she saw a man in the nearby shadows, deep in thought. He was stocky, plainly dressed, with palish hair beneath a tricorn.
She froze, then started to ease back into concealment. But it was too late. He looked up and saw her.
She’d never seen this man before, but since he wore only a small mask, she’d recognize him again.
And he knew it.
Livid alarm replaced surprise. He leaped at her, seizing her arm. Remembering the dagger, Elf stabbed his wrist to the bone. Even as he howled, she fled for her life, praying she ran in the right direction.
The man had choked most of his cry of pain and now the only sound came from his feet pounding behind like a menacing drum.
Or perhaps her struggling blood was the drum in her ears . . .
Breathlessly lost in the twisting paths, Elf thought of taking to the bushes again. But her pursuer gasped close behind. What she needed was people.
Any people.
She’d throw herself on top of a copulating couple to get their protection!
She’d be ecstatic to see her captain.
Pausing at the junction of three paths, stealing a moment to suck in a deep breath, she searched for sound. She heard the orchestra dimly over her pounding heart, but there was no evidence of people nearby.
A frantic glance showed the man almost on her so she desperately took to her heels again, heading toward the music.
Turning a bend, she saw light!
Ahead, the crowded South Walk glimmered like paradise, but her pursuer grunted inches from her back.
A hand snagged her cloak.
She ripped it free and raced on, heart pounding fit to burst, dagger clutched tight in her hand.
If she stopped she was dead.
Nearer than the light, a person turned to face them, a dark silhouette against distant lanterns.
A tall man in dark clothes.
She didn’t care who it was. “Help me!” she cried and flung herself against his chest.
Instinctively, his arms came around her as he rocked with the impact.
At the last moment, with heart-stopping relief, she recognized him, despite a narrow black mask. “Thank God!” she gasped.
She’d thrown herself into the arms of her brother-in-law, the Earl of Walgrave.
She was safe.
She was safe . . .
Collapsed against his strong chest, she wheezed for breath.
“She heard everything,” panted the Scottish voice behind her. “She must die.”